Milly came round the corner from the yard, holding her head high and with a look of self-importance which mitigated her usual scowl. The spirit of approaching festivities had even touched her.

She put the bucket she was carrying down on the trestle table, saying, ‘That’s the sour. M’Dame’s in the dairy now, getting the cream off yesterday’s. I’m afraid a bit of muck fell off the handle,’ and she scooped a bit of farmyard straw off the top of the sour milk – lumps of curd floating in greenish whey, ‘but it adds to the taste, ha ha.’ This jocular remark was Milly’s contribution to the festivities.

Having seen that the table was secure and the sour milk ready, Marion went down the yard and past the weaving shed. An unfinished blanket hung there with the shuttle stuck into the bare warp. Dame Margaret met her at the dairy door. She had a clean white cap on, her hair was smoothed back neatly under it, and she had two extra pink dog roses stuck into it, one over each ear. Marion said, ‘Good morning, M’Dame,’ and complimented her on her appearance.

Dame Margaret’s usual tense expression relaxed. She smiled and asked if the tables were up, and if so, whether the flour had been brought, and where was Tom, and did Marion think the weather would last, and Marion must find a flower for her cap, and as Marion would be busy with the baking, she would instruct Magda to bring Marion a bloom. ‘You take the cream,’ she ended. ‘I’ll tell Tom to bring you out the flour. Is Hilda on her way?’

Marion took the cream, which lay like thick folded blankets in the bowl, and went back to the trestle table. It had been moved to the shade of the oak and Sir Hugh was there instructing them to see that it stood firm.

‘Stood firm enough before he came interfering,’ muttered Ed-me-boy, as Marion put down the cream.

‘In an hour’s time it will be far too hot to work in the sun,’ Sir Hugh announced, justifying his action. Tom arrived carrying a sack of flour over his shoulder like a baby being winded, even patting it from time to time with his free hand.

‘What now?’ he asked, as he lowered the sack on to the table. ‘Oh, Magda’s forgotten the basins,’ and he moved off to the porch and met Magda at the door with flowers in her hands. Marion watched their altercation but could hear no words. Magda approached Marion with some honeysuckle and buttercups.

‘Mother said I was to bring you these,’ she said, justifying herself for having forgotten the basins. ‘All right, Father, don’t fuss. I’m just going for the basins,’ she said as Sir Hugh approached, but added in a low voice, ‘Why can’t Milly bring them, the slut?’

No one but Magda would have dared to speak to Sir Hugh as she did, but many were uneasily grateful to the child for so doing.